


Put Your Back Into It

by orphan_account



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Corsetry, Hand Jobs, M/M, Puns & Word Play, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has a corset fetish. Bond enjoys indulging him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Back Into It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingMachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/gifts).



                Bond knew Q was waiting for him in his room, so he took his time. He spent a while talking to the concierge, a tall French woman whose age he couldn’t quite guess, though he felt she was a little closer to 50 than he was. She told him that Mr. Quartermain must have slept off his Dramamine by now, as he’d sent down for some wine.

                Bond’s target was a clumsy embezzler with far too much sensitive information who would check into his room at the Armani Hotel in two days; naturally, Bond needed the room directly next to his.  Q had come along in the hopes that the target’s information could be obtained bloodlessly, though Bond suspected otherwise. The hotel was a sharply modern building which came in two shades – matte black and canvas white. There was a potentially unpleasant abundance of glass. It was very much like other luxury hotels, the memories all blending together into one sprawling edifice.

                The elevator was completely soundless as it carried him up to the fourth floor. Vespucci’s room fortunately didn’t look out over the main road, so if Q’s little hacking tricks failed to work he wouldn’t have to murder a man while dangling over the Via Manzoni. He slipped his card key into the door and instead of a simple beep, it gave off a loud trill. He’d have Q disable that later.

                The lights were on all over the suite, but he doubted Q had moved anywhere but the bed and the desk. Bond shrugged off his jacket and left it on a chair, taking off his tie and pocketing it while he watched Q’s stiff back. Q was wearing the Scrabble-themed pyjamas Tanner had given him - his attachment to them made it slightly less ridiculous to see Q actually wearing them.

                “I did the shopping,” Bond said. “The concierge was quite helpful when I told her what you wanted.”

                Now Bond could hear Q’s keyboard clacking rather forcefully on the hotel’s self-described ‘multi-use workstation.’ “Please tell me you did not ask her for recommendations,” Q replied.

                “Because two grown men stay in a single room together all the time, don’t they? Particularly when one of them looks like he stepped out of _Brideshead Revisited_. _”_

                Q’s gaze settled on the bag Bond had left on the table. “I’ve never read that book.”

                “Bit old for you, isn’t it?” Bond said. “Are you feeling better?”

                “Mostly.”

                “Good. Desk or table?”

                Q blinked. “What?”

                “I meant exactly what I said. Desk or table.”

                “Oh,” Q said. “Um.  I’m already at the desk.”

                “Better move your laptop out of the way.”

                Q gingerly placed his laptop in one of the drawers and stood up. “You’re seriously doing this.”

                “Of course I am.” Bond took out his cufflinks, enjoying the way Q stared at his hands. “Are you going to get out of your pyjamas or is that part of the larger experience?”

                “I thought you could stick some tiles down the front and try to spell ‘for queen and country,’” Q said.

                “You can’t play that many letters in Scrabble.”

                Q let out a little huff of laughter and started unbuttoning his top. His frame was trim all over, skinny in a way Bond really shouldn’t find attractive. Q slid his pants down his thighs, drawing attention to how very flat his stomach was. Of course Bond had always noticed it, but he hadn’t been planning to put Q into a corset before. Q leaned against the desk, pointedly gripping the edge instead of concealing his nakedness. He was nervous and trying to hide it. Bond rolled up his shirt sleeves while Q sighed loudly.

                “Anytime tonight, really,” Q said.

                “I’m sorry, but the last time I dressed someone up in Italian lingerie and spanked her, long sleeves were a bit of a problem.”

Bond reached for the bag and took out what Q had described to him in an increasingly filthy series of texts during an unnecessary layover in Munich: a steel-boned corset covered in black brocade. It was surprisingly heavy and it felt like Bond could actually use it to beat someone. Q had had the presence of mind to give Bond precise measurements of his waist and the necessary length, which was what finally convinced Bond that Q wasn’t elaborately having him on while medicated and bored.

                “I hope you didn’t use Q Branch’s expense account for that,” Q said.

                “I’ll return it afterwards, if it’s still in working order. Turn around.”

                Q’s lips twitched with a swallowed retort. He turned his back towards Bond, hiding the rest of his displeasure.                 Bond wrapped the corset around Q’s long torso, taking the opportunity to pull Q flush against his chest. Q smiled and inclined his head to the side, his stubble scraping against Bond’s cheek.

                “Start fastening from the bottom,” Q said. “Make sure the clasps are facing left.”

                Bond rested his chin on Q’s shoulder as he began to hook the clasps together. Q’s breathing was coming faster.

                “What’s this part on the front called?” Bond asked. 

                “The busk.”

                Q lightly fit his hands over Bond’s, following his movements as Bond finished with the last of the closures.

                “Is something wrong?” Bond asked.

                “This is… not exactly something I can do alone in my flat. Well, I can, but it’s hardly comparable.” Q impatiently rolled his hips against Bond’s groin. Q was already half hard and Bond hadn’t even gotten the corset on properly yet.

                “Talk me through it,” Bond said, dragging his thumbs along the line of laces. “What are these holes called – gromets?”

                “Eyelets,” Q said, arching into the touch. “Right between them is the modesty panel – make sure it’s lying flat.”

                “The modesty panel. Charming.”

                Bond gave the dangling laces an experimental tug, just enough to pull them taut and loop them around his wrist.

                “Is this what you wanted?” Bond said.

                “Tighter.”

                Bond braced his hand against Q’s lower back and yanked hard. Q’s whole body went tense.  

                “Too much?”

                “Not yet,” Q said. “Put your back into it.”

                “I’m going to enjoy the next part,” Bond replied, tugging on the laces until Q’s breathing turned slightly shallow. He tied off the laces and let the loose ends dangle over Q’s arse. “Take off your glasses before they get knocked off.”

                  “Promises.” Q looked even younger without his glasses– a little sweet, really. Bond kissed the nape of Q’s neck, right below where his hair was buzzed short and still smelled like shampoo.  He bent Q over the desk until Bond could feel the corset’s laces digging into his waist. Q could hardly breathe for Bond’s weight. Bond fisted one hand in Q’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing the pale line of Q’s neck.

                “I am going to tie your hands together and then I’m going to spank you until you beg me to stop,” Bond said.

                “And why would I do that?”

                “Because you can’t come with your hands behind your back.”

                Q took in a ragged breath when Bond stood up. Hearing Q gasping for air prickled unpleasantly at Bond’s nerves. Bond took out his tie and wrapped it carefully around Q’s wrists, pulling it into a loose knot which would tighten if he struggled. Q started immediately, fidgeting and testing the strength of the knot. Bond nudged Q’s bare feet apart, forcing Q into an awkward spread.

                “Comfortable?” Bond asked.

                “Absolutely not. I think I can break out of this.”

                “You’re welcome to try. Keep your legs open.”

                Q glared at Bond from under his fringe. Bond smacked Q’s arse hard enough to make him gasp and fix his eyes on the floor. The next slap had Q biting his lip. Of course Q would be mouthy even when he wasn’t talking. Bond paused when Q’s skin was red and hot under his palm. He was trying to slip the tie again, the brat.

                Bond dragged his nails down the curse of Q’s arse. “Behave, or I’ll put you in a knot you can’t get out of and leave you here.”

                That made a worried look travel over Q’s face, not that Bond had any plan to follow up on his threat. “I _can’t_. Keep going.”

                Q didn’t seem to hear Bond reaching into the bag to take out the tube of lubricant, too busy twisting his wrists, slipping the tie further and further down his slender hands.

                “Are you waiting for me to tell you—Ah!” Q  shifted onto the balls of his feet when Bond suddenly forced a slick finger inside him.

                “That’s hardly fair,” Q whispered.

                “That’s rather the point.”

                Bond spanked Q again, this time matching the motion with a stroke of his finger. Q wriggled as much as his spread legs would allow.   

                “More?” Bond asked.

                Q nodded. Bond set up a rhythm that had Q rocking between his hand and the desk, his thighs trembling from the strain of holding himself up on his toes. Tears were springing to Q’s eyes from the burn of each slap. He moved a second finger inside Q and Q’s whole body shook.

                “Bond,” Q panted. “Bond, stop _._ ”

                Bond waited a few moments until he was sure he could keep his voice even, patient. “Yes?”

                “Let me come.”

                 Bond quickly untied Q’s hands and lifted Q to his feet. Q rushed to wrap his arms around Bond, kissing him so eagerly he was clumsy, his teeth digging into Bond’s lip. Bond grabbed Q’s tender arse and started stroking his cock roughly. Q’s fingers were tugging Bond’s erection out of his trousers and Bond fucked into his hand, shoving Q back against the desk. Q moaned into Bond’s mouth as Bond moved his hand back up to where Q’s waist was held in by the corset, gripping tightly enough for Q to gasp and come shaking. Bond fisted his hands in Q’s hair as he thrust harder, biting a bruising trail down Q’s neck as the desk gave a warning creak and he finally came against the expensive brocade.

                “Shit,” Q huffed. “That’s the equipment ruined.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was too shy to post this while Skyfall fandom was at its height, but I didn't want to leave it unloved on my hard drive forever, so here it is. I nearly called this 'A Misallocation of Funds."


End file.
